


Broken Noses

by PaperDragons



Series: Yesterday [2]
Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperDragons/pseuds/PaperDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed to Race that Spot was pleased to find someone who didn't cower as he approached.  Race started heading to Brooklyn more and more often to help Spot in his new position.  Not that Spot would ever admit to needing help.  Spot could just give him a look and Race could tell what the younger needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Noses

\------

Racetrack Higgins had always been protective of Spot Conlon. Sure, he was older than the Brooklyn newsie by four years, but he'd known him for a long time.  
Spot was 16 and was fearless. Fearless to the point of stupidity. He'd taken over as the key of Brooklyn two years ago when Lark Jefferson joined with the scabs. Race had spent time over in Brooklyn, crashing there for the night on his way home from Sheepshead. He watched them rally for three days over who their leader was going to be when a skinny boy marched into the throng and declared himself the key. He had an air of superiority about him, his eyes were like slate and he held himself in a way that demanded respect. And respect he got. Even the older newsboys listened to him. Racetrack though, refused to be intimidated.  
It seemed to Race that Spot was pleased to find someone who didn't cower as he approached. Race started heading to Brooklyn more and more often to help Spot in his new position. Not that Spot would ever admit to needing help. Spot could just give him a look and Race could tell what the younger needed.  
Jack and the other newsies questioned him with smirks on their faces, but he said nothing. He and Spot grew closer over the months. The first sign of them being something more than friends came when Spot shoved Race into an alley and kissed him senseless before turning on his heel, leaving Race leaning heavily on the wall, gasping with his head spinning like the rides at Coney.  
Race was confused. The feelings he had for Spot were... wrong. Not that he saw liking men was wrong, he'd fucked plenty of men. And one woman, but in his defense, he had been drunk at the time. No, the issue between him and Spot was the four-year age difference. Normally this wouldn't bother the gambler, but something about Spot made him want to make what ever it was between him and Spot last. He wanted it to be perfect. He was terrified he'd do something wrong- be too forwards, too much the adult. Spot was too young to know what he really wanted. He was only 15, and saw, Race hoped, saw him only as a fling. But part of him wanted Spot to love him. He wanted the cocky face and tousled hair to be the first thing he saw in the morning, he wanted to take Spot to restaurants and hold hands and kiss him silly.  
The kisses hadn't stopped after that, and Spot always initiated. They were always fast and hard, in dark alleys or under the Brooklyn docs. Race never allowed them to go further than the kisses, though his body cried out for Spot's against his own. They never spoke about the kisses; one moment they were battling each other's tongues for control and the next they were back to business as usual.  
He had realized two weeks ago, with a yelp, he was in love with Spot Conlon. He was screwed.

\---

They had won the strike. Jack had come back. All seemed to be well in the world of the newsies. Irving Hall was echoing with laughter and a bumbling two-step being played by Boots on the piano and Dutchy on the fiddle. Race was down on the dance floor with the rest of the boys, doubled over in laughter as Ity tripped over his own feet while attempting to dance with Medda.  
Through his laughter-induced tears, Race glanced up at one of the top opera boxes where Jack and Spot were seated and froze. Spot was pressed against David Jacobs, his mouth roaming across David's pale neck. Jack was watching the dance floor, oblivious to what was going on behind him. Race jerked his head, and Jack made eye contact with him. Jack furrowed his brow, and by the time he had gotten the message and was turning to look behind him, Race was sprinting through the crowd up to the box.  
He entered, the door banging open, bellowing "What the fuck", and grabbed Spot by his collar, dragging him in one direction while Jack grabbed David's waist and pulled him the other way. As soon as Spot was nearly standing, Racetrack punched him in the nose and Spot fell back into the wall, blood running between his fingers. Jack scooped up Dave and carried him out as Race knelt down to tend the younger's nose.  
It was a bit awkward to help Spot out of Irving and out onto the street, due to Spot being a good four inches taller than he was and totally sloshed. Once they were out on the street, he was faced with finding a place for them to sleep. He could just leave Spot in the gutter, but he was drunk and in Manhattan also unbearably stupid. They stood for a moment under a street light, Race debating where to take them and Spot leaning heavily on him slurring out creative strings of cuss words.  
Eventually Race dragged Spot off to Brooklyn, knowing Spot had a small apartment space above a warehouse where Race could leave him overnight.  
It took them quite a while to get to Brooklyn, and by the time they made it, it was past midnight and Spot was almost sober. Race dragged him into the dark apartment and dumped him unceremoniously on the bed.  
"Right" he said, looking down at Spot's form on the bed. "I'll leave you here. You should be fine. I'm not very happy wi' you." he turned to go when Spot spoke.  
"Don't go Racie."  
"What?"  
"I said" Spot grunted and reached out to grab the back of Race's shirt, "Don' go." He jerked Race back, causing the elder to fall back on top of him.  
"Yeah," Race growled, rolling off Spot so he was next to him, "I gots that, but 'Racie'? What th' hell, Spot?"  
"I want you to stay with me." Even in the dark, he could tell Spot was doing his best puppy eyes. The ones he knew Race could not resist. "Please Race?"  
Race froze. Had Spot just said 'please'?  
"Alright."

\---

Race woke up what seemed like moments later. Spot was curled around him, using Race's chest as a pillow. He was awake, running his long fingers across Race's arm.  
"You're awake" Spot said, looking up at Race and then pulling himself up and kissing him. This kiss was softer and slower than any of the proceeding ones. Race didn't think Spot was capable of being this gentle. He ran his hands up Spot's back and tangled his fingers in his hair, angling his head to deepen the kiss. Spot nipped at Race's lower lip, and Race jerked away suddenly.  
"Spot stop. We can't... This. This can't happen."  
Spot looked lost and confused and hurt for a moment before regaining his composure. His eyes hardened and he smirked.  
"You're jealous. Of me an' Davey last night."  
Race scowled and attempted to shove Spot off of him, but Spot's grip on his hips was unrelenting.  
"No Spot. I didn't like seein' you all over David because I knew Jack would have your skin if you touched him. I didn't wan' ta see ya hurt."  
"But that didn't stop ya from near breakin' my nose." Spot looked at him strangely and then grinned. "You're in love with me."  
"No. I'm not. I can't be."  
"Why not?"  
"You're 16. You don't know what you want."  
Spot sat up and gave Race a look that would make any other newsie tremble. "Tell me Antonio, how old does the average guttersnipe live to here? No more 'in 30 at th' most. So I do know what I want and right now, I want you."  
"Sean..." Race growled and leaned forwards, kissing Spot with a furiosity that made him lean back, pulling Race ontop of him. 

\---

They lay together in the quiet afternoon light, listening to the yells out on the Brooklyn docks. Spot curled into Race's chest, in the same fashion they'd awoken in that morning. This time Spot's fingers skated across his bare chest and their other hands were clasped together.  
Race realized with a jolt that he'd never felt happier.  
"You know" Spot said, not looking at him, "I love you."  
"I know." Race replied and kissed the top of his head. "I love you too."

Who knew what tomorrow would bring, but for right now, he was happy here. And if this ever were to end, at least he'd had Spot Conlon in his arms and the taste of the Key to Brooklyn's cigarettes on his lips.


End file.
